


Holding onto Faith

by mogwai_do



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst, Episode: s05e13 Revelation 6:8, Introspection, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 16:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13217604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mogwai_do/pseuds/mogwai_do
Summary: Missing scene from Revelations 6:8, takes place immediately before the church scene.





	Holding onto Faith

The church was dim and quiet and empty - perfect really for what he had in mind. It would take the Highlander maybe fifteen minutes to get here from the hotel, assuming that he wasn't held up by Cassandra. Plenty of time.

The ancient Immortal dropped heavily into one of the chairs near the front, closing his eyes and letting the peace of Holy Ground seep into his bones. He shifted slightly and his sword trailed noisily on the stone floor, a forcible reminder of what he was and more - why he was here. The Horsemen were reunited. Methos had broken them so long ago, but it was within Kronos' power to reforge them - and, quenched in the Highlander's blood, that tempering would only strengthen the bonds between them, make them that much harder to break. Kronos' dream - a nightmare come true.

Methos slumped in the chair and raised his eyes to the Cross, plain wood standing on the altar, a symbol of faith for a large portion of this modern world. It was this religion that had given his band of brothers their name and fame and right now it was too easy to see them living up to that legend - surpassing it, if Kronos had his way.

Methos closed his eyes and bowed his head, but not in prayer - after 5,000 years he had little faith left to spare, he had seen too many things fail - luck, love, friendship, trust, whatever gods or spirits were in vogue at the time. He only hoped his faith in the Highlander wasn't going to be one of those things because at this point it was all he had left. Faith in himself, in his own ability to adapt and survive, wasn't enough this time. It had stood him in good stead for over five millennia, had sometimes been the only thing he'd had, but now it was more of a liability than a strength. It was small comfort to know you would survive the apocalypse if there was no-one to share that continued existence with.

He wondered absently if the Highlander could understand that - what it was like to see the world change so fundamentally and to change with it until that change had gone far beyond conscious choice or habit, far beyond second nature - it was instinctive, it was _him_.

Probably not. The Highland Child, like Kronos himself, was very much a product of his times, no matter how far removed from them he was. Maybe Methos himself was too, there must have been some basis for his chameleon nature, if only instinct, or he never would have made it as far as the Horsemen, and that ability had only been refined over the years. He could do anything, be anyone, with as little effort as it took anyone else to change clothes.

Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, so certain in himself, could never grasp the effort it took _not_ to fall into step with Kronos automatically as he had done all those years ago - to be what his brother wanted him to be. It would be so easy. Kronos had been right in that at least, uncannily accurate as he always was when it came to Methos' heart. He was fighting the lure of power, of _belonging_ , fighting it as hard as he could and it wasn't enough, or it wouldn't have been without the Highlander. Methos had seen _everything_ change over time; people, places, customs, beliefs, morals and every time he had adapted to fit. He had long since lost the moral magnetic north that held the Highlander so tightly in its grip, if indeed he had ever known it. He had nothing but his own feelings to guide him in this and they were woefully tangled between past and present.

Part of Methos very much wanted to return to the family he and Kronos had created, that was lure enough even without the power Kronos offered. Four millennia ago, shunned by the mortals he had loved, hurt by the people he had trusted, Methos had withdrawn from the world into safe anonymity. He had been living on the outside looking in until another Immortal had come along full of fire, full of life, and they had _cared_.

Four thousand years later, history had repeated itself; this time however it had been the Highlander who had dragged him from his lonely existence. It didn't matter that the protection he offered wasn't needed or that it hadn't succeeded, he'd _cared_ and that meant everything. Three years earlier, Methos might have succumbed to Kronos' charisma without a second thought; it had been 200 years since his last contact with his own kind, since anything even approaching that temptation. But now...

Too restless to remain seated, Methos got up and paced to one of the high windows - he couldn't see much through it, but the light was an unexpected comfort. He had chosen this meeting place, yet now he felt trapped within its shadowy confines, as trapped as he felt by his own dark history. It almost felt as though he were on the outside looking in, instead of the reverse. He was too old, too alien, to belong any more, not to the mortal world, he had been for years. Adam Pierson lived a mortal life and enjoyed it, but Methos lived a neverending now and craved an anchor, however short-lived it might be. Even amongst the Immortal population there were few strong enough or daring enough to grasp the ephemeral being he had become and hold on tight. Those few he valued more than all the stars in the sky.

Now his two greatest loves, his two most precious anchors, were in conflict and he had to choose between them. He hadn't lied to MacLeod when he had said he'd liked being a Horseman, or maybe he had, because he'd _loved_ it. He had stepped outside the mortal world when he'd lost the will to catch and grasp at their gossamer lives for his sanity. But for the first time it hadn't mattered because he hadn't been alone there - he'd had his brothers, he'd _belonged_ to them and they to him, they understood him as no-one had before. Not gossamer threads, but steel coils tethering him to himself in a way he almost couldn't bear.

And now they wanted him back - _Kronos_ wanted him back. Say what you would about the leader of the Horsemen, he had been the first person in too long a time to truly care for Methos and that was something the Ancient could never, would never, forget, however twisted that caring had been. Sighing, Methos crossed his arms against the cold stone sill and buried his face in the rough fabric of his coat sleeves. When he'd left the Horsemen he'd become involved in the world once again and he'd enjoyed it. No longer able to tolerate the stagnation of Immortality he'd thrown himself back into the crackle and spark of human existence and loved it. Still he'd felt apart, because of his nature if nothing else, but the frantic pace of mortality had been distraction enough. Three thousand years had passed, some happy, some sad, he'd made friends and lost them, but he'd never regained the feeling of family he'd had with his brothers and he'd missed it, even if he hadn't missed what they had done.

Then MacLeod and his makeshift Clan had come along, bound less by personal loyalty and more by common purpose, but still a family of sorts - inclusive even when you didn't want it to be. He'd found another home after so long; admittedly they weren't too sure about him just yet, but that was to be expected. This was too harsh a test and much too soon. Another few hundred years and they'd have begun to understand him better, begun to see the heart of him and realise that its expression was theirs to shape - something Kronos had grasped all too quickly. The Highlander wasn't really conscious yet of the changes he had wrought, of the power he held over the eldest Immortal's aspect - possibly even more than Kronos held because Methos _liked_ the person he became around the Highlander. He wanted to stay in his current incarnation, with his current family, but for the cost to be the family he had loved for millennia... And that wasn't the only family he risked losing tonight.

Methos' long fingers traced over the leading in the windows, winding a path through an imaginary maze. He wasn't sure he could bear the coming conflict. He would have gone mad long ago, as many of the older Immortals had done, if he hadn't kept the core of himself intact. Everything else could change but beneath it all, the only things that truly mattered to him were the people he loved. Survival was a matter of priorities and for the longest time they had never been put to the test, not like this. He bore no ill will toward anyone, but the world could go hang so long as his loved ones were safe and happy. It wasn't a very attractive picture of himself, but Methos was too much the realist to ignore the truth of it.

Now the world might still hang, but Methos' loved ones wouldn't be any the safer for it. The world, or such of it as he cared about, he could save, but only if he chose. He could stop Kronos if he sided with MacLeod; he could stop Kronos if he rejoined the Horsemen, but neither would let him go this side of death. Himself traded for the fate of a world he no longer belonged to - there was a joke in there somewhere, he was sure. All he had to do was choose, but that choice was tearing him apart.

Resigned steps and a heavy heart drew him back to his seat and he dropped into it gracelessly. So much depended on friendship, love, trust - such fragile things, so easily broken, shattered beyond repair. If he could hold onto the Highlander's trust long enough, if he could resist Kronos' pull until the final, inevitable face-off... If he could just hold himself together long enough to see it through...

He had no hope of surviving whole himself, whoever won, he would still lose; he just had to make sure he didn't take anyone else with him. He didn't want anyone dead, least of all himself, but his choices were limited. He had no guarantees, no ace in the hole, no choice. All he had was faith that MacLeod would make the choice he couldn't and sever the chains that no longer kept him safe, but held him back. Faith that the Highlander would not condemn him for choices made so long ago and the choice he couldn't make now. Methos took a deep breath and dropped his head, it would have to do.

Presence filled his senses and he closed his eyes. Faith hurt.

FIN


End file.
